


love, in monochrome

by onhos



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bittersweet, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hwang Hyunjin is a Little Shit, Immortality, Introspection, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Sad, Seo Changbin is a Panicked Gay, Winter, author gets so excited about a fic they start crying at 7:30pm bc of immortal changbin, because i am so glad this has a tag, he is such a cute dork, like it hurts but it also heals idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onhos/pseuds/onhos
Summary: In a thousand years, Seo Changbin has not seen colour.(Then he does)
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	love, in monochrome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honeypressed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypressed/gifts).



> MerRY CHRISTMAS TO MY FRIEND LINLIN<3333
> 
> we met this year,,, we've loved and wrote and smiled together,,, we've had the best time. so this is a gift to all of those moments :D it's about colour, hope, love and it's kind of sad, but in the best way. i hope you can rest in this lil world for a while, and have a lovely holiday. i love you forever <3333
> 
> and to everyone else reading this hi thank you!!! i love soulmate fics and i added my own lil spin on it hehe. hope you enjoy!!

In a thousand years, Seo Changbin has not seen colour.

He has seen war. Then, the blood had spilled on the grass underneath his feet. Changbin dreams of war sometimes, of broken bones, of shadows. War had shape, and smell, but he could not see its colour. He can remember the cries of soldiers, of children, and can almost taste the fear in the air - but it was in monochrome.

He has been in love. Oh, he's been in love. Changbin has loved many over the centuries, though he told himself not to, though he knew it would eventually end. There have been men with kind eyes, or rough hands. Men with soft hair, with rich robes or ripped jeans. All with short lifespans. He never knew the colour of their hair. He could never place the shade of their eyes, or know the brown of the freckles on the backs of their shoulders. They died before he knew what their colours were.

He has been to the top of mountains, to the bottom of the sea - and they were all the same shade, like looking through an old lens, no matter where he travelled. And Changbin knows, of course, that there's more to life than colour. He can laugh and and write and live happily without it.

But sometimes, in moments like this, Changbin wishes he could see colour.

Changbin likes London. It's loud and fun, but it's also quiet and cozy, if you know where to look. Since he arrived a few months ago he's been staying in hotels and frequenting tiny coffee shops to write songs. On the evening he goes to clubs and bars, or makes friends with whoever he meets. He met Chan a few years ago, and on coming back to London he made sure to see him. There's been happiness here.

But tonight is peaceful. And as he walks through the pretty London streets, he aches to see colour. He knows the lights hanging above him must be vibrant. The decorations in shop windows must be lovely. If he stares at them long enough, will the colours reveal himself to him?

(They won't. Changbin has tried that a million times before).

Chan has met his soulmate. When Changbin asked what seeing colour was like, Chan said _I can't describe it, it's just-_ and Changbin had felt this pang, of pain, of longing, that he'd swallowed and tried not to show on his face. After all, it wasn't Chan's fault. He was just lucky to have found his soulmate in such a short space of time.

He's never met another immortal. Was there anyone in the world like him, who had waited _this_ long? Surely he wasn't the only one. When he was a child, in days so different from these bright, modern ones, his mother had told him in the dirt and the cold to be patient. He was a happy and energetic child, who would always nag her about colours. _Patience, Binnie,_ she had said one day, _it doesn't come for you if you're looking._

That's it, Changbin thinks. He's been looking for his soulmate for so very long, in the faces of strangers, in the changing sky, and he's never found him.

Changbin takes another gulp of coffee. One of his lovers died without ever seeing colour. Changbin is more afraid that he will live forever without seeing them.

It's been raining. There's a reflection sparkling on the pavement. If he could see it, would there be a rainbow sparkling there? Changbin swallows. Looks up at the night sky, at a million shining stars. A cup of coffee is warm between his hands. There's more to life than colour, he convinces himself.

Perhaps it's not the colour he wants. Perhaps it's-

The coffee is warm on his tongue. Changbin distracts himself with it, and marvels at how coffee has changed over the centuries. From coffee beans to this concoction of cream and caramel syrup and those humming machines. Everything changes. The monochrome, though, doesn't.

A couple are passing him in the street, their hands intertwined. Changbin stares down at their fingers, and wonders what shade they are.

"What's your favourite colour?" One of the women murmurs to the other.

Her partner smiles at her. It's a smile Changbin doesn't understand, and has never had on his own face - peaceful. She tucks herself closer to the other woman's side.

Changbin doesn't hear what she whispers, not well. But when she leans over and presses her lips to the dark skin of the woman's ear, he thinks she says _yours._

When he started writing songs, all of those centuries ago, Changbin would write about colour. His writing would change, over time, to encompass all sorts of things. Love and loss and family and hope. But every winter something brings him back to colour. Even as he walks the rhythm of his footsteps is creating a rhyme. Something about Christmas lights.

Jeongin, a prince he met a few hundred years ago, asked if it was possible that Changbin didn't _have_ a soulmate. Changbin had considered it, but he knew it wasn't true. Often he felt there was a string tied to his heart. It spanned across countries and centuries, across pain and hope, and one day... one day it would pull. One day the string would pull, and he would find the person on the other end. And then he would _see_

_"But how do you know he really exists?" Jeongin had asked, on the balcolny. He still had this youth, about him, then, those sweet eyes, that innocent sort of smile. But even then, he had this sharpness about him, as if a fox. It would lead him through a life of hardship and war. It was the reason he would be happy, in the end._

_"I just do." Changbin had said, lounging back against Jeongin's pillows._

_"I've found my soulmate," Jeongin had said, suddenly, turning to stare out at the night sky instead of facing Changbin in the bedchamber. "He doesn't know me. His name is Seungmin. He makes charms in the village, and the moment I saw him the world became... bright."_

_"Why haven't you spoken to him?"_

_Jeongin looked over his shoulder, his eyes crinkled._

_"I have all of the time in the world." He said, as if he did._

Humans, Changbin knows, would do anything to be immortal. But it was those like Jeongin they should be jealous of. The lucky ones who had found colour. The peaceful who could rest knowing they had been loved, and had loved in return.

Changbin loves his life, of course. He wouldn't give it up. But he would give the thousands of years he still had left to... to see colour, just once. A glimpse of red. A shimmer of blue. Even just for a second.

Perhaps it was because with colour, came understanding. The knowledge you had found the one person in the world who could _see_ you.

And Changbin has never been understood, not really.

Changbin takes another gulp of coffee and stops outside of a theater. He's been to this sort of place a thousands of times. He has never seen the costumes, bright and pretty. He doesn't know how the curtains change shades when the lights go down. But wasn't it enough to watch the performance, without that?

Is it the colours he wants? Or is it to be able to look beside him in the theater, and to see someone sitting there in the chair next to him with a smile, waiting to say _what?_ when he catches Changbin staring at him? Someone who would love him, and would never leave him?

How long could he be patient without falling apart?

Tears don't sting behind Changbin's eyes. They _don't._ It's just that winter makes him sentimental, that he wishes he could see the Christmas lights sparkling back at him.

He feels like he's been walking down this London street for a million years. Changbin sighs and runs his free hand, the one that isn't the holding his coffee, over his face. He holds it to his eyes for a moment. When he lowers his hand, maybe he'll look out into the city and see colour.

He moves his hand. The world is grey.

But there is someone walking towards him.

The man is walking down the street, but he's looking up at the stars. He has long hair, and this long winter coat that fits his shoulders nicely. His cheeks are sparkling under the moonlight, an artificial glitter, and he looks away from the stars after a moment and buries his face in his scarf.

Changbin has seen too many beautiful people to really mind him. Sure, he's pretty, he's like starlight reflected on the pavement - but tonight, Changbin is too distracted by wishing he could see anything but black and white. Maybe on another evening he would've bumped shoulders with the man, wished him a _happy holidays,_ gave him a lingering smile until the man asked, _what's your name?_ and the night grew warmer.

Not tonight, he thinks. Changbin does not often let himself be melancholy. Not until it's too unbearable to ignore.

They are about to pass one another, when the man looks up from under the cover of his scarf. Changbin notices the turtleneck clinging to his skin, the lip gloss and mascara, the pretty curve of his polite smile. There's a tug in Changbin chest, as if the string has been pulled.

Then he thinks, _you have lovely brown eyes._

And like magic, the spell breaks. Changbin stops walking.

He can _see._

The first thing he sees are those eyes, dark and warm and _brown_. They have a universe in them, Changbin thinks, though he knows nothing about the man in front of him. Then he notices the hair curling around the boy's face, a pretty blonde that looks gentle to the touch. The man looks at him with this adorable wide eyed expression on his face, and Changbin thinks he can see a red thread between them, but it fades before he can touch it, before he can check if he imagined it.

"I can see you." The man says, surprised. He has a sweet voice.

Changbin blinks and tries to process every colour at once. There is the dark blue of the man's turtleneck. The brown of Changbin's hands. The pavement, black under the moonlight. The faded green tree in the shop window. The world seems bright, even in this darkness, and Changbin swallows.

"I found you." Changbin says.

Then the man laughs, and laughs, and Changbin doesn't know why. But for a thousand years he's been giving everything a colour, and this laugh is golden. The man's head is tilted back, his mouth wide open.

"Sorry," The man's laugh quiets into a subdued, orange giggle. "I just wasn't expecting to find my soulmate today."

Changbin can't help but grin back.

"Me neither." He says, "Seriously."

He looks up, and finally sees the Christmas lights. They're a sparkling sliver, making shapes above his head. When Changbin lets out a breath, the air turns white.

"What's your name?" The boy asks.

"Changbin." He says.

"I'm Hyunjin." The boy says, sweet and warm. He has this smile that's so young, so vibrant.

"There's coffee stains around your mouth." Hyunjin says, and Changbin knows that it's because he has noticed _brown_.

"Yeah," Changbin says.

The silence is warm, like a sunlit yellow. Changbin breathes in sunshine, even under this pale moon, wondering how this happened. How after a thousand years of longing the colours had come so simply. Jeongin had said the world became bright, but that's... not how colours feel to Changbin. They feel like they've been waiting all along, hiding just underneath the surface.

"Everything is so pretty." Hyunjin breathes, looking up at the sky. "What's something you've always wanted to see in colour?"

"Honestly?" Changbin shrugs, "Christmas lights."

The man's eyes sparkle, like a star on a Christmas tree, like a winter morning.

"Well, I guess you're in luck." Hyunjin says, "Let me show you them. There are lovely lights around London, at this time of year."

He holds out his hand as if to guide him, and Changbin takes it.

"I've walked the streets of London a million times." Changbin says, surprised by his own vulnerability. The man's hand is cold in his own. "Not like this, though."

"Are you from here?" Hyunjin asks. He gives Changbin a curious glance, and there's something mischevious about him.

"I'm from faraway."

"Mysterious." Hyunjin laughs. He swings their arms back and forth like a kid, looking up at the stars again.

"Do you like the stars?" Changbin asks. Feels fond when Hyunjin doesn't look away from them, even when he answers.

"I should hope so." Hyunjin laughs. "I'm an astronomer."

"Oh?"

"When I was a kid I'd sneak out of bed when all the lights were off and stare out of my bedroom window. Back then I didn't know the names for the stars, so I would give them my own names. The constellations were my friends," Hyunjin says, words spilling out of him in a hundred colours. "They still are."

Changbin nods, listening, and so the man continues. Changbin enjoys the Christmas lights as he talks, coffee still warm on his tongue, the world a million colours at once. He likes the red and green lights that they see on another street, closer to the center of the city.

"As I got older I found books in the library that told me about them. I liked stars because they were..." Hyunjin pauses, finding the words, "They were beautiful without colour."

So were you, Changbin thinks.

"Then, later, I began to study business. But I soon realised that I was still pulled to the stars. So I gave everything up for them, and moved to London to study them. And you know, I always thought they would lead me to you. I thought one day all of the constellations would connect and give me a map to where you were." Hyunjin talks a lot, but Changbin doesn't mind listening, likes the sound of Hyunjin's voice in his ears, rich and pink. "And they did. You know right before I saw you I thought I could see them connecting, star to star. But I looked away because I thought it couldn't be true."

Hyunjin shrugs, turning back to Changbin with his pretty smile.

"It's silly, right?"

Changbin thinks of the string that had pulled on his chest, when Hyunjin looked at him.

"Nah, don't say that. It's not."

Hyunjin gives him a bright smile, as if to say, _oh. I'm understood._

"What about you?" Hyunjin asks. They pass a library, the lights still on inside, this warm amber slipping through the windows. "What was it that felt colorful to you, even before you could see colours?"

"Me? Music." Changbin thinks of hundreds of years with his voice and his words and various instruments and smiles. "I never stopped writing."

"Really? What do you like to write?"

"Oh, anything." Changbin turns a little pink under the attention, looking down shyly at his shoes. "It's just stupid stuff, really. A lot of it is sentimental."

"You're sensitive?" Hyunjin laughs. But his eyes have a knowing glint, and a secret passes between them, just like that. "Don't worry. I am, too. To be honest, I feel like I know you already."

"You still have a thousand years left to know."

"A _thousand_? Well, I better start now, then."

Hyunjin stops and turns on his heel. He stands straight in front of Changbin, running a hand through his hair and giving him a sweet smile.

"Where would you want to go, if you could go anywhere in the world?"

And honestly, Changbin doesn't think there's anywhere he'd prefer than this moment. He's spent his entire life - all of those centuries - without colour. Without... without _this_ , this easy understanding, this warm conversation where secrets pass as easily than breathing.

"Don't say _right here._ " Hyunjin warns, pointing at him, "That's cheesy."

"Okay, okay." Changbin scuffs his shoes on the wet pavement, feeling warm and embarassed and unsure. After centuries of living you'd think nothing would shake you, but already he feels flustered. "I want to see where you live."

"This is too easy." Hyunjin giggles, but takes his hand again. "Come on, then. We'll get the tube."

Changbin has always been interested in other people's homes because he's never _had_ a home. Through the years he's stayed in hotels and friend's houses but he's never made a place for himself. Not long enough to call it a home. Perhaps it's because he's always moving, always searching for his soulmate, never _wanting_ to settle down.

The tube isn't so crowded, since they've missed rush hour. Hyunjin collapses into a seat and pulls Changbin down beside him. He rests their hands on Changbin's knee, and he looks at their hands, one smaller and one bigger, with something akin to affection, though it's too early to call it that. He does know, though, that the flutter in his stomach feels red.

There are a million colours on the subway. Blue seats, white walls, the black of Hyunjin's boots. He's yawning, and Changbin smiles and watches.

"Long day?"

"I was working. I said I was an astronomer, right? I research some days and I teach others, and today I was in the library." Hyunjin grimaces. "I love it, don't get me wrong. It's just tiring sometimes."

Changbin never had a job he's passionate about. He's kept money over the centuries through various careers, but none that really connected with him. He always wanted to pursue a career as a musician, but his audience would forget him, and they would die, while he was still trying to make a mark on their lives. To him every person feels like a small moment in time, a drop of water, and Changbin is an _ocean._

Is that what Hyunjin will be, too? Just a small space in time? When he's gone, will the colours fade away again?

"Are you okay?" Hyunjin asks, all of a sudden. Kind eyes and concern. Changbin melts in it.

"Yeah, sorry, just..." Changbin slumps in the seat. The colours are overwhelming, for a moment, and he closes his eyes. "There are so many colours."

There's a silence, and then Changbin feels a warm kiss against his forehead. His eyes flutter open and he splutters, his ears turning pink.

"What?" Hyunjin asks, "It's what Minho hyungie does whenever I'm sad."

Changbin is shy, flushed. There's no pink tint in Hyunjin's cheeks, just this sparkle in his eyes, this mischevious little spark that says _I've got you where I want you._ And this is when Changbin knows Hyunjin is trouble, despite all of his sweet smiles and warm glances.

" _Oh,_ you're _shy._ " Hyunjin coos.

"I'm not." Changbin grumbles.

"Yes, you are." Hyunjin says. "You _are._ "

And it's then, with Hyunjn's cold fingers wrapped around his, and the subway train passing through a dark tunnel, that Changbin realises he likes this moment more than all of the colours, like this conversation more than the green of the trees, the blue seat he sits on. Maybe this was what he was looking for.

He would love it just as much in monochrome.

The colours, he thinks, were just love all along. And maybe, if he works on this spark between the two of them, he'll be able to see all of them.

"What're you thinking?" Hyunjin asks. "You really are mysterious."

"And _you_ really can't mind your own business."

"Sorry, love." Hyunjin sighs, "It's one of my only flaws."

Changbin realises his cheeks are hurting from grinning. The coffee is going cold. What colour is that smile, he thinks, that Hyunjin is giving me? Somewhere between pink and yellow.

"You're going to meet my dog," Hyunjin is rambling, "And my plants and my paintings. And I don't know if Minho will be home but he's probably with Jisung in his room so. And if you want them we have leftover cookies from when I was baking last night and-"

"Relax." Changbin says, and thinks, _we have all the time in the world._ Now he understands what Jeongin meant. He knows, logically, that they're running on borrowed time. So why does it feel like there's an eternity in front of them?

"I _am_ relaxed." Hyunjin says, all in one breath.

The subway stops, and they step back into the night, with Hyunjin's cold hand still in his own. His fingers are growing a little warmer from Changbin's grip. When the cold air hits them Hyunjin steps closer to him quickly, pressing against Changbin's coat and resting his head against Changbin's arm.

"It's cold." He says, defensively.

"I didn't say anything." Changbin chuckles.

"But you were _thinking_ it." Hyunjin says, "You were thinking, _look at this man, clinging to me._ I could hear it."

Changbin wouldn't be surprised if Hyunjin could hear his thoughts. Hyunjin has something ethereal about him, something starlike. Changbin is the one who has lived for a thousand years, but it feels like Hyunjin is magical, like Hyunjin is the one with the secrets.

The streets grow quieter as Hyunjin leads them to his home. The apartment is far from the tube station, but Changbin doesn't mind the walk. He can't see many colours in the dark but the knowledge that he _can,_ and that he'll see more in the morning, is wonderful. Even more wonderful when he knows he'll maybe see Hyunjin again, too.

"What did you think your soulmate would be like?" Hyunjin asks.

"Quiet and boring." Changbin jokes.

"So the opposite of me." He hears Hyunjin pout. "Nice."

"I'm kidding." Changbin says, "To be honest, I was looking for you for... a long time. And I- I don't know. I didn't expect it would feel so-"

_Peaceful._

"Annoying? Miserable?"

"No," Changbin says, "Colorful."

This makes Hyunjin go quiet, for a while. His thoughts buzz in the air around them in a spectrum of colours. The stars glint in puddles, sparkle on windows. A red car passes them, it's headlights glowing yellow in the dark.

"I'm old." Changbin says, suddenly.

"You don't _look_ old."

"When I came of age, I stopped ageing and I..." Changbin pauses and pushes Hyunjin away from him gently. "You probably won't believe it, but I've been here a long time. Centuries, in fact."

"Really?" Hyunjin asks, his eyes twinkling. "Like, you're a vampire, or something?"

"Well, I'm the immortal part." Changbin shrugs, "What I'm trying to say is that I've lived for centuries and I never saw a single colour, until you."

"Well, that's what happens when you meet your soulmate." Hyunjin jokes.

Under the golden streetlamp, the rain shining in the spaces between the light and the pavement, Changbin raises his hand and presses it against Hyunjin's soft, glittering cheek. Watches as his grin fades into something smaller, as his eyes take on a new colour.

"I don't think it's that." Changbin says, "Because I think it would feel the same if I met you in black and white."

It's then, when Hyunjin lets out a little breath, and suddenly seems so sweet and brave and _right,_ that Changbin knows he's going to fall in love with him. Hyunjin raises his hand and places it on top of Changbin's.

"I know what you mean." Hyunjin says, "I told you, right? The stars, they all connected. It feels like a constellation. They never needed to have colour. It doesn't _matter_ about colour."

It never has, Changbin thinks. He finally understands it.

Still, the pink of Hyunjin's mouth is pretty. Changbin flushes and drops his hand, staring shyly at his feet. Grey rain on brown shoes, moonlight on the pavement.

"You're shy." Hyunjin says again, happily. He takes his hand, and presses himself back against Changbin's side, and Changbin has never found something so wonderful. Not in a million years.

"Oh, we're here." Hyunjin says.

He runs up the few steps to the door and puts the key in the lock, then opens the door to let Changbin inside.

"Come on, come on." Hyunjin says, excited smiles and starlight. Changbin grins and steps inside the apartment.

It's warm, is what he notices first, and sighs happily as the cold of the night slips away from him. Hyunjin is shrugging off his coat, and while Changbin looks around the hallway he takes off Changbin's scarf, too, and his coat, hanging them casually on the coat rack as if they've known each other a hundred years.

"Thanks." Changbin says, embarrassed, and Hyunjin winks and leads him through the hallway into the living room.

There are plants, everywhere, just as Hyunjin said there would be. A small dog is yapping at Changbin's feet, and Changbin picks it up with a laugh. Already there are dog hairs clinging to his sweater.

"That's Kkami." Hyunjin says, looking pretty in just his turtleneck, "Isn't he cute?"

"Sure." Changbin laughs, as the dog licks his face. He sets Kkami down gently and looks around. There's a telescope by the window, and Hyunjin smiles when he catches Changbin looking at it.

"That's star." Hyunjin says, "My telescope, I mean. That's her name. I've always wanted a house where you can go on the roof, so I can go out there on clear nights and watch the stars. I have to make do with the living room, for now."

"I see." Changbin says. An image of him writing on the sofa at night while Hyunjin watches the stars passes over him and he wants to cry. Will he have a home? Could he make one, with Hyunjin?

"Cookies?" Hyunjin asks, his voice fading as disappears into the kitchen.

Changbin doesn't reply. He sits down on the sofa beside Kkami, who has already curled up to sleep. He takes in every colour. The cream of the sofa. The paintings on the wall, in every colour. The humming television, that's playing an animated show. The brown and white fur of the dog at his side. The room is decorated with a sparkling Christmas tree and tinsel and Christmas cards. The colours are overwhelming.

He closes his eyes. Presses his hands to his face. And for some reason, in that small living room, he wants to cry. It's been so long, he thinks, without colour. Without love. How many years had went by before he could feel comfort like this? Hyunjin, he thinks. Hyunjin.

Hyunjin comes back and finds him like that. The room smells like warm cookies, and Changbin supposes, through his sentimental haze, that Hyunjin must've microwaved them.

"Are you alright, darling?" He slips quickly onto the sofa beside Changbin, his arms fluttering around Changbin's back like they're old friends, like it's something they can do. "What is it?"

Changbin's sigh is shaky. He opens his eye, and everything is still in colour.

"I keep thinking the colours will fade away, any moment now." Changbin manages to say. He's always find it hard to talk about how he feels, and even as the centuries go on, that's never changed. He supposes the core of people never does change, not really.

But Hyunjin hums and holds him closer.

"Even if they do, I'm not going anywhere."

That's right, Changbin thinks. It doesn't matter if he can't see colour anymore. He'll just love Hyunjin in monochrome.

"Come on, have a cookie." Hyunjin says warmly, "They always make me feel better."

And they do. They're warm and gooey, and a little burnt around the edges, but Changbin savours them.

"I'm not a good baker like Felix, but I tried." Hyunjin shrugs. Changbin smiles.

"They're nice." He says.

"Don't eat with your mouth full." Hyunjin scolds, but his eyes are crinkled, and Changbin wants to reach out and trace the whiskers at the side of his eyes.

"Oh, I wanted to ask." Hyunjin says. He looks at Changbin under the light of the Christmas tree, golden and lovely. "Now that you've seen colours, what do you think your favourite is? I was honestly thinking black and white are still mine. They remind me of the stars. Colours are overrated, really."

Changbin smiles. He's stopped noticing colours. He just sees the loveliness of Hyunjin, sitting opposite him.

"So?" Hyunjin asks, "What's your favourite colour?"

"Yours." Changbin says.

*

Over the years Changbin stops noticing colour.

When he starts to build a home, and when he starts to publish his music, colour doesn't seem to matter as much as it did when he couldn't see it. He settles in with Hyunjin and he's so busy and happy and full of colours on the _inside_ that somehow the outside world doesn't matter as much. Oh, sure, he thinks of the old black and white days, and the sadness of always travelling, wandering for a thousand years.

But the thing about happiness is that it leaves room for little else.

And, much like happiness, colours become simply a fact that you notice every now and again. _I am happy,_ and _I can see colour,_ feel the same way.

They buy a new apartment after a few years with a roof that Hyunjin can lie on to look at the stars, or set up his telescope on. Some nights Changbin climbs up there and tries to get Hyunjin to help with his latest songs. Other nights, he lies beside Hyunjin and watches the stars with him. Hyunjin points out the constellations. Changbin listens.

After a while Changbin begins to live day by day. He had always lived in the future, thinking _when I see colour I'll be happy,_ or, _when I find my soulmate it'll be okay,_ as if life had a checkpoint. Hyunjin helps him realise that actually, there was colour all along. In his friends and songwriting and love.

In Hyunjin, there are the most colours of all.

One morning, decades later, Changbin comes downstairs in his dressing gown and Hyunjin is dancing around the kitchen cooking eggs. It's a familiar sight that feels warm and homely and domestic, and he simply gives Hyunjin a sweet morning kiss before sitting down at his seat at the table. _His_ seat in _their_ apartment, in the home they made for themselves.

The sunlight is a warm yellow on the window frames, on the table as Changbin opens his notebook. He yawns and sips at the coffee Hyunjin has left out for him. They take turns making each other breakfast, and Changbin savours being cared for, savours how the coffee is just how he likes it. Sweet and warm and brown.

"One more day until the weekend." Hyunjin sings.

"Jisung wants me at the studio tomorrow, too." Changbin says, "He hates me."

"Don't lie. You're his favourite. He _loves_ you."

"Yeah, right." Changbin grumbles. But he smiles, thinking of his friend. Lately he's been letting people in more. They have Chan over on weekends to play games and laugh and talk about music and it's... comfortable. It feels like it'll last forever.

Changbin pauses and realises Hyunjin is looking at him. He looks back, always flustered by the sparkle in Hyunjin's eyes. He still turns pink, after _decades_ of loving him.

"What?" Changbin asks.

"Nothing," Hyunjin says. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and then he smiles as if they're sharing a secret. "I was just thinking of something."

"Oh? What were you thinking of?"

"It's a secret." Hyunjin murmurs, then comes over to Changbin's chair to kiss him sweetly before dancing back to the pan.

Changbin smiles and turns back to his notebook. He runs a hand through his hair, and when he pulls it away, there's something glinting.

There's grey hair, hanging from the edge of his finger.

_Oh,_ Changbin thinks, his heart lifting. He's growing up.

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR  
> YOURS  
> SJDNFJKNJKNFB BYE 
> 
> IT HURTED
> 
> WHEN CHANGBIN KEPT THINKING NO ONE WOULD UNDERSTAND HIM THE N HYUNJIN SAID I SEE YOU,,,
> 
> te gREY HAIR HE'S FINALLY AGEING HE ODESN'T HAVE TO LIVE FOREVER ALONE ANYMORE
> 
> HOPE YOU ENJOYED
> 
> AND u can b friends w me on twt @daystarkyuhyun if u wanna <3
> 
> (also, this is about how. sometimes you search your whole life for something. this huge, overarching ideal. for changbin, it's colour. but it wasn't colour he needed. it was love.)


End file.
